Wardens of Narnia: The Seventh One
by Lady Saffron of Xybria
Summary: Zsasha receives a letter with a simple request. She could have easily discarded the letter. Afterall, she's a well-established author in the writing community. Who has time to make a trek to a remote area in the country, in the north, outside the city?


I just saw _The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_ in the cinemas. I can't help but write a fan-fiction. Not exactly related to the film, but TCoN-wise, yes, defintely; and inspired by this photograph ( http : / audreyhepburncomplex . tumblr . com / post / 1664023927 ) also. Here goes.

* * *

It was a round house, a strange building to my eyes, having grown up and accustomed to the highly urbanized cityscapes of the capital. Even the forests were strange to me, everything moved with life! Even the floor, winds rustling the grass, bugs crawling over the broken stone path like city folk on sidewalks on a weekday.

I checked the address again, perhaps wishing that maybe I was at the wrong place, but no, this was it.

The house felt ancient, even pushing the door open felt like I had to say some words of prayer before entering. The first step inside transported me into an atmosphere of times past, like the many story books I constantly poured over when I wanted to shut the outside world away.

Books such as _The Chronicles of Narnia_. How I loved those books, tickets into Narnia with each turn of a page, each chapter promising adventure and discovery.

The main door immediately opened into the living room. The house had no divisions or walls. Just one wide space for everything. I can't say "corners" of the house because there were none. I guess the closest I can call them are "areas." One area had kitchen things, even a sink. Another had a display of picture frames on several circular tables. Another area had an upright piano. In the middle of the room was a circular rug of warm reds, browns, and greens. I approached the rug, realizing it portrayed a hunting scene. Maybe it was the light or the drowsy effect of the woods and the warm summer months, but I thought I saw the scene move.

The door shut suddenly, making me gasp in fear. Then I saw something I hadn't when I first entered: stairs. It hugged the shape of the house , winding up to a second floor.

The entire second floor was a library study room. Books upon books, several desks, it was all a mess! I'm usually uptight about keeping this neat and at 90-degree angles, but for some reason I welcomed this sight of chaos. It made me wonder what the owner of this house was thinking, sifting through books, markings of notes on whichever papers or notebooks. It gave the room a sense of being lived in.

I looked back at the paper holding the address. Why was I sent here? The letter bearing this address only came with the message:

_Please find this house. There is something I need to give to you. Time is of the essence. Poste haste. –SP._

I had no idea who this person was, only that there was an unexplainable compellation to follow the request.

Suddenly the weariness from the long journey from the city to this remote area in the country overcame me. I nestled into the only armchair in the library, promising myself only a few moments of shut-eye to try and ward off the oncoming headache.

A movement made me bolt up, the shuffling sound coming from the stairs. I stood up, making a grab for the nearest book, ready to hurl it as a weapon if need be.

The book dropped from my hand as I stared with disbelief at the aged person before me. The wrinkles didn't dampen the youthfulness that easily radiated from the gray-haired one.

"I see you have come," a smile spread, the approval apparent in the voice.

"Professor Pairvencelle?" I gasped, not able to look away from my former teacher. This was impossible! "I thought you were… they said you were…"

"Dead? Hah! Not yet. But soon."

Those words chilled me, but more over it pricked my curiosity. "Professor?" I took out the letter again, looking at the initials.

_SP._

_Susannah Pairvencelle_.

"Yes, I sent that," she nodded, hobbling over to her desk and taking a seat. "And this is my house," she waved about. "Sorry for the mess, but these old bones don't agree with house chores," she chuckled.

My thoughts were pulled into the past, when I still saw an old yet strong professor, who tirelessly taught literature to us students, who also was the middle-school's librarian. I thought she looked ancient back then, now she absolutely looked prehistoric! That was twenty years ago.

"Professor," I started. "What did you mean about _poste haste_? And _soon?_ Please don't tell me you're planning to meet St. Peter at the Gates of Heaven at this particular afternoon," I rambled. Oh goodness, how was I going to handle a geriatric patient? Let alone handle a (God-forbid) cadaver?

"Ah," she laughed, her body racking with a combination of coughs and wheezes. "I am planning to meet Peter, and that time may be close at hand."

"Don't talk like that," I went to her, kneeling before her and placing a hand on her knee like I used to when I was younger. "You'll be fine. With a little rest –" I looked around and saw that she didn't have a bed or bedroom area. Where did she sleep then?

"Zsasha," she began after her coughing fits resided. "Remember those stories I introduced to you? That day we met in the library and I handed you a book to read?"

My mind rewound years, and yes, I did remember the book, and six that followed. "_The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe."_

"And do you remember the author?" she continued.

"Yes, Sir C.S. Lewis," I answered. "But what does have to do with –"

"I told him to write the chronicles," she said. Before I could ask anything, she held up a hand and continued. "The reason I wasn't in the train crash, the reason I'm not yet there is because this story had to be told, needed to be shared, to give hope and rekindle the faith that there is a better place beyond this earthly stage we walk on. That was the mission He gave me. The others had to save Narnia. My duty was to tell their story and have it live on in this earth. That is how Narnia is alive: through faith and believing in its existence. In Aslan."

I knew I was still staring at the same person, my teacher, the school librarian, but I knew I wasn't looking at the same person either. In those short moments she changed, not physically, but in a spiritual sense. It was as if she possessed something bright, radiating from within her… like a star coming to life.

Then her words hit me, their full implication nearly knocking me off my feet.

"Train crash? _Your duty_?_"_ I repeated. "Then you're… _you're_…!" I gasped, jaw agape. Words escaped me, the shock too much too soon to handle.

"I am," she simply nodded, smiling. "The reason I have called you is the same reason I called Sir Lewis: to help me share this story. Sir Lewis was a great writer, and I needed his services. Much more, I needed him to tell the story in a way that would reach children. As you know stories of our childhoods greatly shape the adults we will become in the future," she winked. I remember her constantly saying that line, both as the school librarian and later as my literature professor.

"Yes," was all I could reply.

"I pull you into this quest to continue sharing this story to many others. Douglas Grisham does so successfully in the movie industry as well as keeping the protection rights to his father's foundation," she sighed.

"But he already has a federation and corporation protecting those rights, promoting the books through movies," I gasp-mumbled. "How do I fit into all this?"

The professor took my face gently in her hands, looking at me with such tenderness worthy of making me cry. "You're a writer, Zsasha, an author. And you work closely with children, affiliated with promotions involving education and love for the written word. Who better than to continue this noble cause than someone who has great love for these books and share it in a way that children will come to care for in their childhood and later on share it with their own children? Yes, Zsasha, I choose you."

"But," I could feel my lips quiver with fear. "I can't do this on my own!"

"You need not be," she smiled. "There are others before you whom I have chosen. Some may be familiar to you. Others are chosen for their own value. But you are the last. And now, they arrive."

I didn't notice at all the footsteps from the stairs until she spoke of them. I turned. There were six of them: four males and two females. I did recognize two: Benjayel and Asta, schoolmates from middle school. Asta motioned me to stand beside her.

Before standing up, I turned to my professor. "How do you know I'm the right one you chose?" I felt the fear in my words. What if I failed? What if I wasn't good enough to carry this quest?

"_We were made for so much more_. Do not doubt your value, Zsasha. I never did," and she too signaled me to stand next to Asta. Asta took my hand and gave me a gentle squeeze, mouthing "Welcome" and smiling.

Then all six of them knelt to the floor, bowing their heads. I followed suit. I knew a sort of praise would come, but I didn't know what the words were. Without warning, the words came to me and my ears rang with alarm and awe.

"_Long live Queen Susan the Gentle, Long live Queen Susan of the Horn, Long live Queen Susan the Markswoman." _

I looked at my professor, at last revealing what my heart seemed to know from the first day I met her: she was special, someone who would be significant in my life and years to come.

And it was true.

"Hm…" she sighed, closing her eyes, then finally stood up. The years, wrinkles, and deterioration of age slipped off her like a cloak, and before us stood the Queen we read in the stories. She was beautiful!

"Now," she sighed again, smiling at us, waving us to stand. "I can truly go home. My quest on this earth is finished." She turned away from us and faced the space of wall in front of her. She walked toward it and touched the wall. "I'm ready to leave. Peter," she called. Just then a door pushed back and opened, revealing High King Peter in his glorious crown and regality. He stepped into the room and regarded us, and bowed to us. We bowed in response.

"Wardens of Narnia, your task is great, not without its pains, but also cometh with them rewards. May Aslan's strength be with you," he raised his sword, _Rhindon_, giving us his blessings. Sheathing his sword, he turned. "Come, sister, there are many who await for you in New Narnia," he offered his arm to her.

"Farewell, my students, my children," smiled the Queen. "Have faith."

And then they were gone.


End file.
